Harry Potter and the Curse of the Illusionist
by Pozagee
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, the Golden Trio are enlisted to go up against a Muggle investigation team that is getting a bit too close to the Wizarding World. Add that to their own personal problems, Harry's darkening soul, and a dangerous new threat, they are in for an adventure. AU, for a certain someone who lived. Warnings: Past abuse (HP, SS, etc), OCs, grey!Harry.
1. Chapter 1

**Harry Potter and the Curse of the Illusionist**

**~Pozagee~**

**/|\**

**/(|)\**

**_London Times_**

**_Mysterious Deaths Baffle Authorities: "Dream Team" to Take Over Investigation?_**

_For the past few years, countless deaths, disappearances, and kidnappings have occurred all throughout Europe. No one is quite sure if these happenstances are connected, but one thing is for sure: The fact that no suspects have been brought forth for questioning – for even one of the occurrences – has raised several eyebrows._

_None of the deaths, disappearances, or kidnappings seem to have parallels, but perhaps there is something missing from the evidence picked up by the authorities. (Or perhaps the authorities are purposely not seeing things, but we don't know THAT for sure.)_

_One of the theories is that a dangerous conspiracy group is behind this. No one knows of a group that works quite like this, but a secret organization such as this seems like the only logical explanation for such a large number of horrors._

_Prime Minister Kirkland has – according to my sources – enlisted a "Dream Team" of researchers and special investigators to help uproot and crush this secret organization. He has this to say:_

_"These past years have hit Europe, especially our glorious country [England], rather hard. Though the frequency of these occurrences has ground to a halt [for the most part], the people need closure—to know that the people who caused them this great pain have been put away."_

_The man leading this investigation is Detective Felix Hawke. Though his name is not very well known and his experience lacking, his youthful spirit and quick wits will be a valuable asset to the "Dream Team"._

_"It is quite an honor to be working with such an excellent and knowledgeable group of people," Hawke states. "I hope that we will be able to bring peace to the families of those murdered and the victims of the kidnappings."_

_I will be following the investigation, giving the public updates. Of course, if anyone has any information, contact the authorities or the Newspaper immediately._

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

The newly appointed Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt was tired, to put it lightly. Not only had he just spent the last few years as a very important member of the Order of the Phoenix, the last couple years guarding the Muggle Prime Minister, and last week engaged in the toughest and deadliest battle in all of Wizarding World history...but people suddenly decided that HE should be the one to lead the clean up effort on...well, everything.

And there was a lot to clean up, indeed. Everything from piecing together the oldest Wizarding school in existence, to recovering the records of the Muggleborns, to cleaning up the Ministry of Magic itself...yes, it all fell onto his shoulders.

Kingsley was not one to brag—in fact, he was a quite modest man—but honestly, no one was better for the job than him. He was experienced, you see. He had been working at the Ministry for years, by then—having had various jobs in various positions over the years. He had had to do both paperwork and fieldwork as an Auror, not to mention the various other things he had been trained to do (such as lawful interrogation, recognizing different types of magic, Muggle interaction, etcetera).

So despite the fact that the next few years were bound to be trying, in all truth, they were manageable.

Then...he arrived at work on Monday.

The Battle of Hogwarts had just ended not even a week ago, and then something like this happened. Well, obviously the Muggles would have noticed _SOMETHING_, but this...this was bad.

An Investigation team. An Specialized Investigation team of Detectives. The "creme de la creme" of the Muggle law system. That was what they were going up against.

You see, the first order of business that Kingsley had taken care of was a mass Obliviation of Muggles. Many had played witness to both Death Eater and Order activities, and many others had been victims; their minds needed to be erased, lest they decide to be talkative about the things they had seen. The Auror Office—now headed temporarily by himself, as well—had voted that they Obliviate the Muggle Prime Minister as well. Kingsley had been rather reluctant—he liked the way Kirkland ran things, and they often had similar views on issues—but he had eventually relented, putting the safety of their world first.

Unfortunately though, this decision had come back to bite him in the rear. Minister Kirkland had decided to uncover the mysteries behind the disappearances and deaths of the Muggle populace; and using a seemingly rather qualified team, to boot. (But truthfully, they were lucky this hadn't happened even a little bit earlier; an all-out war would have been harder to conceal than this semi-peaceful state they were suspended in right now.)

Again, this was nothing he couldn't handle; after all, the Wizarding World had existed in secret for thousands of years. But still, they would need to be careful, taking extra precautions and such. Add this to Project: Clean-up, and it was actually a rather daunting task.

Kingsley read, reread, and reread the small excerpt again and again. His large hands held the paper steady, face impassive. Only his dark brown eyes showed how uncomfortable and worried he was about this new development.

"Minister Shacklebolt?" a half-confident, half-fearful sounding voice questioned. He looked up to see the red hair and horn-rimmed glasses of Percy Weasley. "The Aurors are asking what they should do..."

The man heaved a great sigh, laying the paper down on his large wooden desk; he almost wished that it could be lost in the mounds of other documents stacked upon his desk...but alas, wishes such as that were pointless and counterproductive.

It was at times like these that he wished with all his being that Dumbledore was still around to help handle issues, such as this. The omniscient wizard seemed to know how to handle things well, and while wearing a kind and reassuring smile the whole time.

"I...suppose I should address them," Kingsley said, with much reluctance. The other man nodded, before quickly exiting the room.

Kingsley rose slowly, making his way to the Auror Offices where he was supposed to be the calm and collected figurehead they expected...when in reality, he felt confused and – actually, a little bit – scared.

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

A young looking man with a rather severe face and spiky brown hair was stalking down the streets of London, hands shoved in the pockets of his jumper. He seemed rather awkward – what with his bean-stalk like build – but he also carried an air of confidence around him that made the young man seem intimidating.

He came to an abrupt halt, before turning into an alley; beyond that, the path he took got very complicated, indeed.

A right, a left, climb over a small wall, climb up some stairs, a right, another right, down some stairs, through a flower shop, a left...basically, he seemed to be on some strange and unconventional expedition through the city's underbelly.

Eventually, however, he seemed to have reached his destination: A rather dull and crumbling building, which had a sign reading, "_Shello's Apartments_" on the front in twisted glowing letters. The bricks of the building had a dull grey tint to them, and most of the windows were busted. On the sign, the first "_S_" and "_O_" were out, making the building seem even more unappetizing.

The man, however, seemed unaffected by these borderline terrifying details; he was obviously used to it.

Inside, the building was not much better. The heat of early summer was already building up, leaving the air heavy and a sort of musty smell. The floors were cracked tile, and the walls covered with horrible looking floral-print wallpaper. An oriental man with a kind face was asleep at a desk that was shoved into the corner of the tight entry, but the man just walked on by.

He didn't even spare a glance to the elevator – which, I may add, had caution tape crisscrossing in front of it – instead making for the stairs.

He climbed quickly and with purpose, stepping over the stairs that had questionable safety with ease. As each floor was passed, the humidity seemed to rise, along with the fowl smells – which could be anything from a drunkard's vomit to the stagnant water stuck in the pipes – and loud sounds – which could be anything from a child's cries to car alarms going off in the street below. Much with like everything else, the man did not even seem to notice the atrocities of the despicable place.

The man finally seemed to finish his ascent up the crumbling stairs, for when he reached the landing, he turned and ventured down a narrow hallway.

He stopped at a door, only taking a moment to consider it's pealing olive green paint and fading brass numbers, before shoving a key into the slot, and twisting it with a satisfying click.

"Demure," the man growled, as he entered his home, closing the door with care. His face, however, was a mask of fury. "Where the hell are you?"

Honestly, the place wasn't that bad: It looked relatively clean and neat. Most of the furniture and such was old and worn, but in a way that makes a home a home. It wasn't that big of a place, and it was a loft. A few sheets strung up with wire seemed to be the room-markers.

A groan was heard from behind one of the sheets. The man scowled, ripping down the sheet.

What he saw was a rather common sight for him: His room-mate was passed out on the couch, bottle of vodka limply clutched in his hand.

"Demure!" was snapped again, as a sharp smack was landed on the sleeping man's cheek. The man whom was called 'Demure's eyes opened slightly, a lazy smile dancing on his lips.

"'Ello, Felix. Looking lovely this fine afternoon," was said tiredly, accompanied by a yawn.

The man whose name was apparently Felix crossed his arms, scowling at the other man.

The other man's full name was Ethan, Ethan Demure. He was a lot like his roommate in some aspects...but they were complete opposites in other ways. For example, they were both very smart gentlemen, but they had very different ways of using their intelligence.

Felix had done various jobs for the government and military in his short life, becoming skilled in the art of 'precision' and 'perfection'.

Ethan, however, was more of a free spirit. He was a writer and a photographer for The London Times, known mostly by the fact his pieces were normally controversial and a bit eccentric.

And it was because of Ethan's latest "work of art" that Felix had decided to skip his stop at the little cafe near his work to give his roommate a stern talking to.

"Have you seen today's paper?" Felix ground out, eyes narrowed.

Ethan blinked slowly at him, sitting up. Ethan had a sort of washed-out look to him, what with his curly blond hair and light-colored eyes, hidden behind a large and thick pair of glasses. Ethan also had an older sister whom looked nearly identical to him, but she scarcely visited. Felix had quickly learned two things about the Demure siblings, the first time she visited: 1.) They had to have the fluffiest hair imaginable; and 2.) They had to be the heaviest drinkers the young detective had ever met...well, ever.

Ethan was bad enough, with his drinking throughout the day, doing nothing productive, and being passed out by the evening, but Jan – oh, she was so much worse. But Felix didn't mention the bottles of vodka she seemed to have brought in her luggage, because – really – what could you say to THAT?!

His roommate really wasn't that bad... Sure, he was loud, lazy, a heavy drinker, a slob, too truthful, blunt, rude, over-sociable, a bit flamboyant...but he paid his part of the rent for their crappy apartment, so all that stuff could be excused – or so Felix tried to convince himself.

Ethan stretched languidly, smiling calmly at his scowling friend. "No, I've been busy."

Felix produced a newspaper from his coat, waving it at the blonde's face. Ethan blinked, grabbing it, and squinting his eyes as he read the first page. Soon, however, his eyes widened in recognition, a huge bright smile painted on his lips.

"I made the cover... Yes! Finally! They recognize my brilliance!" The man jumped up and started doing something that could only be described as a happy-dance.

Felix, however, frowned deeper. "Yes, you did. But this-this little story of yours got me a good 'talking-to' from Steel! You've got to be careful how much you reveal, Demure!"

'Steel' was Felix's boss. A large man with steel-grey hair and a dark unibrow, he was a very intimidating person. Add that to the man's previous position as some-sort-of-General, his military experience certainly helped with leading England's police force and detective unit.

Ethan laughed. "Oh, brilliant! Did you get a picture of his face? That'd be fantastic to publish in the next issue..."

"Are you even listening to me?! You can't reveal everything on this mission to the public, especially whom all is working on it! It is dangerous!"

Ethan rolled his eyes. "Listen. I make my living on stories such as this. This is my big break. And besides," he murmured, reaching for another bottle of alcohol. "You DID tell me everything that I put in the column."

Felix sighed, tugging on a random strand of his wild hair. "Yes, I know. Just...be careful, all right? The last thing I need is someone coming after you, since you seem so close to the investigation."

Ethan smiled cheekily. "Awww. You like me."

The brunette rolled his eyes, thumping the other on the head. "Yeah, whatever. But if anyone happens to contact you with any information..."

"I'll report it to you immediately. No worries, chief."

Felix rolled his eyes, before going into their little kitchen to get a cup of coffee.

"Hey, get me something! I have a massive hangover."

"Now whose fault is that?"

Ethan laughed. "Come on! Just a splash of tea!"

"I'm not making tea."

"Pleeease?"

"Make your own bloody tea."

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

**_A/N So this is my new super-long fanfic! It is not all typed up, but I am submitting the first chapter to see how people like it, I guess..._**

**_And I'm breaking one of my one rules of NO OCs, but that's because mine are awesomely epic! XD_**

**_This takes place right after The Final Battle, and is AU (seeing as I still manage to make my favorite character rise from the dead)._**

**_Also, this is not OC/Harrry, or OC/Draco, or anything like that. ALL CANON ROMANCES APPLY!_**

**_So...what do you think of this so far?_**

**_Please review!_**


	2. Chapter 2

Felix was often torn about whether he liked his job or not. Sure, it paid well-enough, and the '_skills_' that he had acquired throughout his short life had served him well...but he wasn't sure the job was 'so great', that it was worth the constant barrage of harsh comments and skepticism.

Felix was a young man, the youngest detective stationed at "_The Works_" (as was the name of the investigative center). He was only in his early-to-mid-twenties, and yet he had made it up to one of the highest positions offered: Head Investigator.

Though Felix was unbelievably happy about this, the position was almost not worth the grief he received (seeing as there were men—some his senior by nearly twenty years—who had been vying for that particular position for an inscrutable amount of time, and decided to take it out on the younger man). So add his age and 'inexperience' (for the workers had not heard of his previous endeavors for the government) with the questions of his sexuality (rumors about a relationship between him and his boisterous roommate, nonetheless), and Felix had easily became the most hated person at The Works.

Only one man: Steel—his tough-as-nails boss—took him seriously. Of course, that meant that when his idiotic friend published an article about a rather "_hush-hush_" investigation, that there would be another 'serious talk', like the immediate one after the London Times was first delivered.

Therefore, the next day at work, Felix was unsurprised to see the uni-browed man stalk over to his little '_office_' (as it was merely a desk shoved in the corner of the main room).

"Hawke. We need to talk."

"If this is about Ethan-"

"It is _CERTAINLY_ about Demure—the idiot."

Felix sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Don't worry, I've already taken care of him. He won't publish anymore stories without my proof-reading them first."

Steel's thick lips tightened, as he allowed his hulking form to settle into the chair across from the brunette.

"It's not that, Hawke. There should be no reports on this at ALL. You ARE aware of the fact that this is a PRIVATE matter, and the investigation is supposed to be rather secret, itself?"

Felix nodded, though he didn't refrain from speaking. "True. However, the public is already aware of the investigation and such. After all, everything was in chaos until just recently. People are still looking for their loved ones, and repairing the damage done by this 'group'."

Steel made a grunt-like sound. "Nonetheless, you must watch your step, and keep your roommate on a shorter leash."

Felix's eye twitched, but he nodded. Steel—seemingly placated—walked away.

A warm chuckle caused him to sigh, before meeting the dark eyes of his '_neighbor_'.

"Good morning, Jones."

"_Jones_" was a woman in her mid-to-late thirties, with long dark hair and olive skin. She was rather laid-back, but was also passionate about the cases she was given. Unlike most of his coworkers, he got along pretty well with the woman—though that was probably due to the fact that she got along pretty well with Ethan (a miracle and rare happenstance within itself).

She had been hired a few years back, about the same time Felix had been (granted, he was ten years her junior). However, Felix had easily found himself climbing the career ladder, working his way up to detective status. She, however—due to frequently be absent for "family reasons"—had remained farther down in a department she was more comfortable with.

"You don't seem to be having too 'good' a morning," she chuckled. "What's Steel's problem?"

"My roommate," Felix groaned, laying his head in his arms. Jones smiled.

"Ethan's article? I saw that! What a hoot!"

"You don't have 'the boss' on your back about '_keeping him on a shorter leash_'."

"Well…he could have phrased a few things better—like maybe questioning the corruptness of the government wasn't too good of an idea…"

Felix pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes. Steel was right on at least one account."

Jones raised an eyebrow. "And that would be…?"

"Ethan is an idiot."

Jones crossed her arms. "Be nice."

"He is!" At Felix's exclamation, a few glares were shot their way. Felix picked up a folder that was resting on top of the (rather intimidating) stack on his desk. Jones did the same.

After a few minutes of filling out files for their respective cases, Jones asked, "So how are things going with the investigation?"

"Not good, but we did just start. All I have right now is a list of murder and kidnapping victims…"

Jones nodded. "So no suspects?"

Felix laughed bitterly. "Hell no. I'm still trying to figure out how everyone is 'connected'. I told Steel that they were probably just individual cases that just happened to take place around the same time, but he felt that it was too coincidental."

"That's true, but with all the chaos Europe has been in as of late…It truly could be seen either way."

"That's what I'm saying!" Felix exploded, before lowering his voice again. "I am just overwhelmed by everything. No connections, whatsoever."

Jones sighed, before shooting him a reassuring smile. "I'm sure Steel will figure something out."

Felix rolled his eyes. "You put too much confidence in him—he's only human."

"And as are you. No one can expect you—a (let's face it) pretty inexperienced kid—to be able to solve this case on your own."

"Okay, number one: I am not a kid; and number two: …Well, whether people should or should not expect me to be able to figure this out, it is my duty to at least try." Felix sighed, rubbing his forehead. "People are counting on me."

Jones pursed her lips. "True, but I stand by what I said. You shouldn't have to handle this alone."

"I'm not. I apparently have a 'dream team' behind me, though I have yet to see any of them." Jones chuckled.

Felix shook his head. "Ah, well enough of my melodrama. What about you? Any unique cases?"

Jones worked in the domestic unit―her job was to investigate suspected/reported child abuse and neglect cases, in alignment with other forms of domestic abuses. Felix found her job dreadfully boring (seeing as there was no field work) and depressing to boot. It certainly didn't seem to fit her lively and happy-go-lucky persona.

"Same old, same old. Honestly, some of these people aren't mentally stable enough to take care of themselves, let alone children." She shook her head. "But lately I've been getting so many reports of supposed abused children, that it's hard to think about them as actual people, not papers with facts."

Felix's face was near-stoic, but a bit of emotion had crept into his expression. He had not thought of 'the people behind the papers' in a long time...perhaps that's why he was not getting anywhere with this big project...he shook his head.

"I find myself wondering," Jones continued, "if a bunch of these are fakes. I mean, the numbers here are ridiculous!" She shook her head. "But then I wonder...maybe there was always this many, and nobody cared back then to report..."

Felix stiffened―this was getting a tad-bit too close to home. "So no odd cases?"

Jones sighed. "No, just depressing. Well, there is the freak show one..."

Felix nearly choked―and he wasn't drinking anything. "Freak show? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, some people thought the leader of this freak show was abusing some of its performers." Felix just gaped at her. Jones let out a breathy, rather-humorless chuckle. "I know."

"Well...I'm going to have to think about that one."

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

Meanwhile, Ethan was hovering over his bulky computer, trying to find inspiration for an article—and at this point, he was willing to write an in-depth interview between himself, and Mr. Hello.

"I am not cut out for this bore of a job. I need...adventure."

Ethan smiled suddenly, bringing up a blank document.

Inspiration—though on occasion was detrimental to his other 'stories'—was truly a welcome friend.

Ethan had tried his hand at writing novels…it hadn't worked out so well. He had also experimented with various other types of writing (such as poetry, scripts, etc.), but none of those had worked either.

A few times he had considered enrolling in a college, and taking the more traditional route…however, he was never the academic type. He preferred to have fun and actually enjoy life, thank you very much.

His sister—though similar to him in looks—was the exact opposite of him, personality-wise. Where he was fun-loving and flirtatious, she had received the nickname, "The Droid". It was bad.

Granted, opposites attract. Therefore, they had a pretty easy-going relationship…when they actually saw each other, that is.

Jan didn't visit too often—she was usually doing some type "history research project" some random place in Europe. Plus, her and Felix did not get along.

Felix was…sort of…similar to Jan…SORT of…loosely. But that was probably the reason he and Felix got along…so…well…

Felix frowned, before starting to write.

**_A/N Bleah! Boring Muggle OCs. Anyway, I hope you are all liking them more, now that you know a bit more about them. But don't worry! The trio and other characters will be in the next few chapters!_**

**_Is there anything you want to see in this fic?_**

**_Please review!_**


	3. Chapter 3

Kingsley looked down at the report in front of him—a break-in had occurred at a small wand shop in Norway.

The wand shop had been a unique one: It had been in the Bondvik family for centuries, but they had always been open to new types of wand magic. Lukas Bondvik had been the current owner, and his death had really shaken the Wizarding World.

The minister had felt so horrible, with just sending a few spare Aurors to help out Lukas's family, but he really had no other option. Most of the Aurors and even some Ministry workers had been sent various places across the world, trying to find the other units of Death Eaters. So far, they had only discovered a few hide-outs in Hong Kong, Paris, and Rome, in addition to several in the Americas. However, Kingsley was sure there were more that had yet to be found.

According to those few Aurors, Bondvik had been experimenting with and testing different cores for wands—apparently he believed there should be more variety than the basic Phoenix feather/Unicorn hair/Dragon heartstring deal.

There had been several items—from both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds—that had apparently interested the man: Powdered butterfly wings, moonstones, Hippogriff hooves, etcetera. But in addition to these odd items, there seemed to be a few magical artifacts that didn't appear to be from Europe; if anything, they resembled the Voodoo-magic that was found in the deep South in the United States.

But why and how had Bondvik gained possession of these items? The man and his family were considered hermits, with how little they left their house…and Americans (even the magical ones) typically traveled to the bigger cities like London and Paris, or the more tropical regions.

That was the main reason this particular report was bothering him—something just didn't seem right, though he wasn't exactly sure what.

A knock startled the man out of his musings. He looked up, surprised at how early his 'visitor' was.

"Come on in."

A woman came in, wearing rather plain Muggle clothes. "It seems I beat Percy in." She laughed, sitting across from the Minister.

Kingsley smiled. "I actually told him to sleep in a bit—I'm actually quite surprised he took me up on that offer." The woman smiled.

The air then became serious. "Have you found out anything?"

Hestia Jones shook her head. "Nothing new, really. Felix has very mixed emotions about the whole thing, and has been working himself to death. Apparently Kirkland's "Dream Team", as Ethan put it, is just Felix and a bunch of useless ghosts." Kingsley tilted his head at her bitter tone.

"Do you want him to figure out who is truly behind all of this mess?"

"Of course not!" she snapped. "But I don't want him to suffer either."

When Hestia had joined the Order a few years back, everyone had been a bit skeptical. In school, she had been rather melodramatic, and the cause behind several girl-fights. However, she had obviously matured by that time, and had became a rather great witch.

Kingsley had actually liked the woman from the start. They had similar backgrounds (both half-bloods, both looked down upon in the Muggle community due to their respective races), and both were also very good actors.

So whilst Kingsley was deployed to go work under the Minister, Hestia had been sent out to keep track of the actual "law" (basically, to make sure that her coworkers didn't decide to suddenly take on cases involving the Wizarding World). She had actually got along good with a very ambitious young man who had apparently joined "the force" around the same time she herself had. Unlike her—who preferred to remain in the position she was at—Felix had quickly advanced through the program in a rather short period of time. A year had hardly passed since both Hestia and Felix joined, and Felix had already been working too-close-for-comfort around Auror missions.

So naturally, Hestia was told to keep a close watch on him.

She had done pretty well, somehow managing to tangle herself in Felix's life, and—consequently—Ethan's life as well.

Therefore, Kingsley understood her goal of maintaining the secret that _was _the Wizarding World, whilst making sure that Felix didn't wreck his health as well as his career, by trying to swim upstream.

"None of us want him to suffer. Just keep an eye on him."

"I always do." She smiled, before sitting back in her chair.

"You know I would never betray our world, right?"

Kingsley immediately placated her. "Of course. You have always put the safety and well-being of the Wizarding World first…At least since you've graduated." He smiled, but she remained in her "brooding position".

"You know that if I have suspicions or worries about beings that have the potential of being the next "Dark Lord or Lady", I will come to you, right?"

Kingsley frowned. "Do you have any suspicions? Should I be concerned?"

"Not yet…" she murmured, getting up to leave. "But if things start happening, we _will _talk."

Kingsley felt unnerved, to say the least. "Fine…Where are you heading off to? Work?"

"No, I took the day off." She smiled bitterly. "I am to go retrieve a certain Savior's relatives today."

Kingsley knew how much trouble those "relatives" could be. Therefore, he nodded, gesturing for her to go on her way.

"Good luck."

**_A/N Whoops! I lied =_= I thought that the trio would be in this chapter. Whatever. They're in next, and I plan on posting three today, to see if this story is even worth continuing. I hope last chapter makes sense (why I included it) now. XD_**

**_Please review!_**


	4. Chapter 4

Harry Potter stared down at his coffee, though it wasn't doing much to take his mind off...things.

He felt so...strange. So empty; and yet—remarkably—full of emotion. Perhaps it was the fact he no longer shared his mind with Voldemort...or maybe it was everything that had happened to him, since that fateful night in Godric's Hollow, all those years ago was _FINALLY_ catching up with him.

It was almost as if...Voldemort had been suppressing his memories, his emotions, his true thoughts and feelings this whole time. Harry doubted this though; if anything, the last few days seemed to have shocked him out of the baffled stupor he had been in his whole life.

But still...what if Voldemort HAD been doing those things...what purpose would it have served? It was almost as if Voldemort wanted him strong, cold, and emotionless...much like himself...

Harry stopped _THAT_ train of thought. The last thing he needed right now was another mystery to solve; right now, the thing the green-eyed boy wanted the most was to know he was surrounded by people, in a warm home, and _SAFE_.

He heaved a sigh, running a pale hand through his already rumpled, black hair. It was too early to be thinking about...well, anything.

A plump woman strode into the small and bright kitchen, looking downtrodden, yet somehow strong.

"Oh, Harry! I had no idea you were up yet!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, as she started to bustle about; most likely preparing something for them to eat.

Harry shrugged at her statement, slowly stirring his already-cold coffee. "I...couldn't really sleep."

Mrs. Weasley shot him a sympathetic look, making him clench his fists, suddenly.

Before, Harry hardly ever got any sympathy; he was always thought of as the wretched little brat, a troublemaker and a stain on Privet Drive's normalcy; or the Boy Who Lived, spoiled and arrogant child whom got everything he desired. Of course...both were hardly the truth, but that is beside the point.

Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, sympathy seemed to be the only emotion anyone could express towards him. And...it was actually getting on his nerves.

Probably because it wasn't really sympathy...but pity. Pity that he lost so many people close to him. Pity that a boy as young as himself had to be the one to face against the Dark Lord. Pity that he had to share his body and mind with said Dark Lord...

Harry shook his head again, trying to clear it. He slowly uncurled his fists as well; Mrs. Weasley didn't just pity him, he knew. She was a kind woman, whom had told him—nearly a hundred times lately—that she thought of him as another of her sons; she was also a strict and powerful woman, willing to do anything in her capabilities to protect her family.

"You look a bit peaky, Harry," Mrs. Weasley stated slyly, as she continued to make breakfast.

The teenager laughed. "Running around in a tent for a year _PROBABLY _isn't the best thing for your health..."

Mrs. Weasley turned to him, worried expression marring her obviously-tired features. Harry sighed, feeling guilty. "It wasn't that bad. Honestly."

She nodded slightly, turning back to the sink. The worried expression didn't leave her face, though.

A few minutes later, Hermione walked into the kitchen. Instead of still being in sweaty and wrinkled nightclothes (like Harry, at the moment), she was fully dressed, looking ready to go somewhere.

"Good morning, Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley greeted, as the sweet smells and sounds of bubbling pancakes, crackling bacon, and sizzling eggs filled the air.

Hermione smiled, though it was a nervous and tired one. "Good morning."

"Pull up a chair; food's almost done," Mrs. Weasley ordered in that no-nonsense voice she was famous for.

Hermione nodded, before sitting down next to her best friend. "Okay, but I can't stay long. I'm due to Apparate to Australia to retrieve my parents."

"Don't forget you must go to the Ministry to get the credits. The last thing you need is to arrive in Australia, just to be zapped," George said, walking in. He smiled, as he pretended to spazz-out, though his eyes were bloodshot and pink around the edges. Out of everyone, it was obvious that George had lost the most at the Battle of Hogwarts.

"Credits?" Harry questioned. He had been told not to come to Kingsley's Address to the Wizarding World, that had taken place a couple days after the Final Battle (and subsequent Hogwarts cleanup effort), along with several other teenagers and children. He, along with Ron and Hermione, had fought to go; but in the end, Mrs. Weasley won: They had had a rough year, and they needed rest. And a good rest it was; they had each slept the through the whole afternoon AND night.

Unfortunately, the temporary Ministry rules and such had been laid out at the meeting; so, basically, they had no idea what was fine to do and what could get them arrested.

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "To Apparate, you need to get Apparation Credits from the Ministry. You can still Apparate without in an extreme emergency, but their trying to limit travel right now."

Harry frowned. "Why?"

George answered that. "Though all the Death Eaters at the Final Battle died, there are still quite a lot of different branches of them all over the world. The last thing the Ministry needs to deal with is them gathering together and regrouping."

"Correction," Hermione stated, "That's the last thing ANYONE needs." Everyone nodded in agreement.

"The Ministry is trying to round up his remaining Followers. Keeping the Wizarding World at a standstill is the easiest way," Mrs. Weasley concluded, right as she finished breakfast. She levitated the heavy platters onto the oversized table.

Right as they hit the table, Ron stumbled into the room, obviously still half-asleep. Hermione smiled fondly, before rolling her eyes. "Figures. Only food can get Ron up this early."

The red-head glared with bleary eyes, before wrapping his arms around her middle, swinging her over his shoulder.

"Ronald! Put me down!" Hermione demanded, though she was laughing under her breath. Harry smiled, as did George, but Mrs. Weasley crossed her arms strictly.

"Ronald! Not at the table!" she reprimanded, forcing her lips to not smile at the two.

Ron smiled charmingly at his mother, before setting Hermione back down at her seat. She huffed, patting her bushy brown hair back into some semblance of order. "Unnecessary," she muttered.

Ron shrugged collapsing in the chair next to Harry. "That's what you get for making fun of me."

She rolled his eyes, and Harry chuckled. "But it's so true, Ronald," the boy with black hair said with a smirk.

Ron stared at Harry, his jaw dropping. "Come on, mate! I thought you were on my side!" The inhabitants of the kitchen laughed, which caused Ron to pout. This only resulted in everyone laughing harder. "And don't call me Ronald."

Percy and Ginny chose that moment to enter, and sit down at the table. "What's everyone going on about?" Percy questioned, serving himself.

Ron quickly grabbed a plate, shoveling mounds of food on it. Hermione rolled her eyes again. "Ron's appetite and sleeping habits."

Ron shrugged, mouth full of food. "W'at cahn I s'y? 'm a gr'ing b'y!" Mrs. Weasley gently smacked his head.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Ronald," she reprimanded. George and Ginny snorted, much to Ron's displeasure.

"Hey!" he shouted, after swallowing the gargantuan sized bite. "It's not my fault we ate things like mushrooms and bark all last year!"

Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened, as she looked about ready to have a panic attack. "Ronald Bilius Weasley—I thought I'd never say this, but you'd best be lying!"

"Don't worry," Hermione quickly intervened, before the woman could attempt to force-feed them. "He is."

Ron elbowed Harry. "But it WASN'T much better, what with it being 'mione's cooking-OUCH!" Ron yelped as she thumped the back of his head. The red-headed boy loaded his fork, before flicking it at Hermione.

"RONALD!" And it lost control from there.

After numerous attempts from Mrs. Weasley and Percy (whom was already dressed for work) to stop the vicious food fight, things finally calmed down.

The woman set her hands on her hips, looking rather sassy. "You best clean this up right this instant, or you will be VERY sorry."

Percy jumped up. "I wasn't involved!" Ginny rolled her eyes, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "goody-goody."

Hermione stood up as well. "Percy? Are you going to the Ministry?" she asked, causing Percy to stick out his chest a bit, in that self-important way he often did.

"Of course. Minister Shacklebolt HIMSELF asked me to be his Advisor. It is a VERY important position." The other Weasley kids coughed, causing Mrs. Weasley to send them all warning glares. She then turned, beaming at the boy with the horn-rimmed glasses.

Hermione, however, beamed. "That is amazing! I think it would be rather interesting working at the Ministry...though I haven't a clue what I would do. Perhaps I could help with the Rights of magical creatures! Oh, that would be wonderful! It would be like SPEW, only on an entirely new level! Imagine!" Harry smirked at his friend's eagerness, while Ron snorted. She shot him an annoyed look. "Well EXCUSE ME, Ronald, for being concerned about important things, unlike Quidditch."

This started yet another debate, with Ginny, Ron, Harry, and George on one side; Hermione and Percy on the other; and Mrs. Weasley trying to mediate.

"Enough! All of you! Now. Percy, why don't you Floo with Hermione to the Ministry to help her get her credits," Mrs. Weasley demanded. Percy nodded, gesturing for Hermione to follow him into the sitting room. "The rest of you better have this room spotless by lunch, or so help me..." The four remaining teens shuddered, before quickly gathering cleaning supplies.

A/N As promised! People you know and love XD I hoped you liked this chapter! Is everyone in character?

Please review!


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione had never really paid that much attention to the Weasleys' fireplace; it was often covered by a variety of things and/or blocked by a people standing around.

It wasn't all that large a piece, but it would serve it's purpose. Percy carefully poured the perfect amount of Floo powder into her hands, before tediously explaining how to use the Floo system. Hermione had already used it before, but she decided to let the young man have his moment.

Finally, Percy threw the powder in, calling out, "The Ministry of Magic, Sector 372!" A few seconds after the green flames dispersed, Hermione followed suit.

Traveling in the Wizarding World—she had realized years ago—was not something she was fond of. Flying on a broom, though fun-sounding in theory, was actually a pain. She had found out that flying wasn't exactly her strong suit...basically, in their first flying lesson.

Traveling via Portkey sounded fine, until fourth year. She disliked Portkeys since then, especially the fact that basically anything can be turned into one.

Apparation. Again, fun in theory. It was the easiest way to travel, really, but a pain. You had to be very focused, which was a hard thing to accomplish while your body was being twisted and squeezed through a tube.

Then there was the Floo system. It was dirty, it was uncomfortable, and if you made a mistake...well, good luck!

Hermione stumbled out of the fireplace at the Ministry of Magic, before trying to dust the ashes out of her wild hair and off her rumpled clothes. Percy had his arms crossed, and was tapping his foot impatiently.

The Ministry of Magic had changed a lot since the last time she had been there. For one, the hideous statues and wanted signs were gone. There was also a rather large area sectioned off, as construction was going on...seeing that almost made her laugh.

There were also a lot of people; a lot more than she had ever seen from the Wizarding community. It was obvious that they were from all over the World, due to their various accents and clothing.

She must have started to wander off, because Percy grabbed her arm (as though she was an invalid child!) and started dragging her through the crowds.

"It normally isn't this hectic but a lot has been happening these last couple days," Percy explained. Hermione had to restrain herself from correcting him that a lot had been going on in the last could YEARS.

Percy continued to talk.

"...but I believe yesterday was the worst, however, what with the Muggles..."

That got Hermione's attention. "What about the Muggles? Has something happened?"

Percy's ears became as red as his hair. Hermione was also quite familiar with the face he was making; it was a face Hagrid often made around her and her friends when he had said a bit too much.

Percy swallowed hard, before stuttering out, "Nothing for you to be concerned about."

Hermione pursed her lips, unintentionally likening her face up to Molly Weasley's 'no nonsense' look. This made Percy even more uncomfortable, but he continued to escort her through the building.

Finally—after what seemed like a ridiculous amount of time—Percy ushered her into an overcrowded room, full of people grumbling impatiently.

Hermione had never felt more frustrated; NOW the Ministry had decided to do something about how unorganized and chaotic the Wizarding World, right as she needed that bit of freedom.

After about 20 minutes of waiting (and the line—if the jumbled mass they were in could be called that—hadn't moved), Hermione squatted down on the ground, resting her cheek on her palm as she balanced on the balls of her feet.

Percy—however—shifted uncomfortably.

"Go on. I'll be fine," Hermione said to the impatient man.

Percy looked slightly torn. 'Keep an eye on your youngest brother's girlfriend, or attend to extremely important Ministry and Auror business...'

The choice was easy, for the ambitious man.

"Are you sure you'll be fine?" he questioned, though he was already walking out.

Hermione shot him a false smile, before resuming her impatient pouting.

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

George found himself sitting in the same place Harry was earlier; he gazed down at his cold tea, before taking a sip. Suddenly, he felt a warm hand rest on his back.

"George? Are you alright, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, sitting down beside him. He gave a small smile to the woman, trying to make the worried expression marring her features disappear. It didn't work.

"I...honestly don't know. I feel sort of...as if half of me is missing, you know." His mother nodded in understanding, large tears jumping to her eyes. He bowed his head, not wanting to see her upset.

"Oh George. Things...they will get better. I promise," she stated solemnly.

"...And if they don't?"

Mrs. Weasley sat up straighter, eyes filled with resolve. "They will. Now! You should go out and have some nice relaxation time, since you have to get back to work next week. I believe the children are flying in the garden..."

He shot her a brilliant smile, though it was still lacking some of its normal pizazz. "Thanks mum!" After a quick kiss on the cheek, George rushed out of the house, grabbing a broom on the way.

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

Harry let himself fall backwards onto a patch of grass, breathing heavily. Ron, Ginny, and George followed suit.

"That...was...awesome..." Ginny breathed, a contented smile spreading across her flushed face. Harry nodded in agreement.

"I really missed this...playing Quidditch..." the green-eyed boy murmured in agreement, wiping the back of his hand against his damp forehead.

"Me too, mate. Me too," Ron added.

Ginny suddenly jumped up. "Ready for another round?"

George groaned. "Giiiiiinervaaaa! We are oooooold! Give us a breeeeaaaak!"

Ginny jumped on her brother, straddling his chest. "Don't call me Ginerva!" Ron laughed as George tried to buck their younger sibling off, to no avail.

"Oi! Looks like Gin-gin is stronger than you-OMPH!" Ron quickly found himself in the same position his brother had been.

"What is with older brothers and giving me nicknames!" she exclaimed, as Ron tried to roll out from under her.

"Harry! Mate, help me out!" Ron exclaimed, reaching for his friend. That was when he saw Harry's haunted expression, and how he was staring off into space. "Harry?"

Immediately Ginny climbed off Ron, approaching her...friend? Boyfriend? Her whatever. George and Ron did the same, though more cautiously; much like trying to approach a rabid dog to muzzle it.

"Harry?" Ginny questioned, setting a hand on his shoulder. He jumped, his eyes snapping to Ginny's face.

"Oh. Sorry, I zoned-out for a bit..." George and Ginny nodded, though their faces were concerned. Ron, however, looked very pale.

"What happened?" he questioned.

"Nothing I was just daydreaming," Harry assured his friend, though his voice held a warning for Ron to 'drop the matter'. No such luck.

"Listen mate, you can tell us-"

"I said it was nothing Ron! Just drop it!" Harry snapped, getting up and walking away.

Ron started to follow him, but George grabbed his arm. The younger brother turned to look at him questioningly, but George just gave a slight nod. Ron followed his gaze, watching as Ginny jog after Harry.

Ron rubbed the back of his neck, tilting his head to the side slightly. "Things sure have changed, haven't they?"

George shoved his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. They sure have.

A/N So...the big question...should I continue, or throw on the Hiatus/Trash pile? Do you like it? Any changes?

Please review!


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